


when i saw you smile, i saw a dream come true

by leapylion3



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Class Differences, Community: got_exchange, Cunnilingus, Developing Relationship, Droit du Seigneur, Established Relationship, F/M, First Time, Mild Sexual Content, New-France, Nouvelle-France, Oral Sex, edmure worries too much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:31:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leapylion3/pseuds/leapylion3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edmure Tully is a young and handsome lord, who's life is turned upside down when he meets Roslin, a beautiful shepherdess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when i saw you smile, i saw a dream come true

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poly_m](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poly_m/gifts).



> Written for the got_exchange on livejournal. 
> 
> Prompt: _Edmure is the handsome young lord of Riverrun, while Roslin is just a common shepherdess. Noticing her during one of his hunts, he searches everywhere for her until he finds her father and asks him to use his Droit du Seigneur on her._

The sun shone brightly, his hair like copper in the bright light. The musket was slung across his back, the cool metal chilling him even through the woolen tunic and undershirt he wore. It was a contrast compared to the rest of his body; the air was thick and humid, stifling him. He could feel the sweat trickling down his neck, his hair sticking to his cheeks and forehead.

The forest was dense and all the leaves covering the sky and light made it hard to see any animals, despite being midday. Still, he liked a challenge. His steps were quiet and deliberate, careful not to make too much noise. He caught sight of a pair of antlers hiding behind a bush. Grinning, he changed his path to approach the deer.

“Aren’t you a pretty one?” Edmure murmured, holding his musket in his hands. He crouched behind a large log, resting the neck of his gun on the wood. “Come on, boy…” His finger hovered over the trigger, a smile playing on his lips as the deer poked his head out from the bush. The animal moved away, completely exposed and vulnerable to Edmure. “That’s a good boy.”

The gunshot rang in the silent forest, echoing off of the trees. Edmure bounded out from his hiding place and dashed over to his deer. “Marq!” he called, staring down at his prize. “Get over here and help me!” Marq found him moments later, followed by Patrek and Hugo.

“ _Mon Dieu,_ we’ll be eating well tonight.” Hugo flashed his straight white teeth and helped them haul the carcass onto the wagon they’d brought with them. The horse tied to the front of the wagon whinnied and nickered impatiently, stomping his feet. The day was getting hotter by the second and Edmure knew that they had to leave before the heat got to them.

Patrek sat astride the horse, with Edmure, Hugo and Marq in the wagon being pulled. Surrounding them was the bountiful game they had caught: rabbits, squirrels, geese. The thought of the hearty stew that would be prepared that night made Edmure’s mouth water. While he and his friends had ridden into the forest, he’d seen farmers collecting fresh carrots, potatoes and cauliflower.

The narrow road up ahead was blocked by a rather large cart. Edmure could see a small figure trying to push it out of the way. Trying being the key word, Edmure mused. It was almost comedic, really. As they approached, he could hear strained and frustrated grunts.

“Wait here,” he instructed his friends. He swung over the side of his wagon and made his way to the cart. “ _Bonjour_ ,” he called, his steps slowing down the closer he got. “Can I help you with that?”

“I don’t need help.” He was shocked: the voice was distinctly feminine. She looked up at him, and though the straw hat on the top of her head shaded most of her face, Edmure could still see that she was a beauty. “ _Pardon, mon seigneur_ ,” she gasped upon recognizing him. “I meant no disrespect.” Her clothes were loose and plain, hiding any evidence of curves. She gave a quick curtsy, gnawing on her full bottom lip.

“No apology is needed,” he assured her. “Loose wheel?” he inquired, nodding to the cart.

“ _Oui_ ,” she affirmed, her voice as faint as a whisper. She watched as he lifted the cart- if she was in shock or in awe, Edmure could not tell. She pushed the wheel into place and he let go of the cart, his arms trembling from the exertion. “ _Merci, mon seigneur_ ,” she murmured.

“It was no trouble at all. I’m happy to help.” He smiled at her, and he felt his heart flutter in his chest when she blushed prettily. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. _Mademoiselle_ , what is your name?”

“Roslin, _mon seigneur_.”

“ _Un joli nom pour une jolie femme_.”

She blushed even harder. “I...wouldn’t expect you to have seen me.”

“I do not often use this road,” he agreed.

“I...didn’t mean because of that.” She shrugged. “I have no business in your castle. My brother deals with all the payments.” She smiled coyly, her gaze downcast. “I do not think I would fit in with all your fancy lords and ladies, anyway.” She gestured to her grimy clothes. _You are more beautiful than any of them,_ Edmure thought, though he kept his mouth shut.

He helped her onto her horse, his hands lingering on her waist for a moment too long. He hoped she didn’t notice. “I hope to see you again, Roslin.” He furrowed his brow, reflecting on her earlier words. “Who is your brother?” A tiny spark of hope lit inside him; mayhaps he’d be able to find her and see her again.

“Olyvar, _mon seigneur_.” She kicked the sides of her horse; her mount trudged forward, lugging the cart. Roslin smiled sadly at him from over her shoulder. “ _Merci, mon seigneur_ ,” she said again. “Perhaps we will meet again one day.” And with that, she was gone.

* * *

 

Another arrow sailed over the target, landing in a nearby bush with a pathetic _thunk_. From behind him, his friends chuckled, their own longbows in hand. Edmure found himself distracted lately. He had only met Roslin a few days ago, yet he found it impossible to get his mind off of her. He asked around about her, but no one knew who he was talking about. He even waited outside the church after Mass on Sunday, waiting for her. Just a _glimpse_ of her and he would be satisfied.

Except Edmure knew that if he got a glimpse, he would only want more.

“Edmure,” Patrek clapped him on the shoulder, “what’s the matter? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look this…depressed.” His friend’s lips twisted into a frown, concern evident on his features. “I know you’ve never been the best archer, but…” Patrek laughed when Edmure shoved him away.

“It’s nothing,” Edmure brushed him off. He ran his fingers through his auburn hair, a nervous habit he’d picked up. “Besides, you three were never the talking type.” He allowed himself a tiny smirk. As much as he loved his friends, they were not the ones to go to if he had to get something off of his chest. He supposed that most men were like that. He used to tell his sister, Catelyn, everything. That was before she moved a few leagues north to marry Eddard Stark.

Hugo grinned wickedly, his eyes glinting. “Did you catch another floppy fish?” Edmure scowled and turned away from him, stringing another arrow. He had never liked bards after that one night…a trout for a sigil, a little too much wine, and suddenly, you’re a singer’s new favourite subject.

“That was _one time_ ,” he gritted out, squeezing an eye shut to aim. The arrow was closer to the mark this time, though it planted itself into one of the wooden beams holding up the target. “You’re a liar if you say that it didn’t happen to you.” That only makes his friends erupt into boisterous, roaring laughter.

“Judging by that blush on your cheeks, it’s about a girl,” Marq said matter-of-factly after he stopped laughing. “Who’s the lucky _mademoiselle_? Must be some woman if she makes your arrow miss the target.”

“You don’t know her.” Edmure did not want to talk about this right now.

Hugo rolled his eyes. “Oh, I’m sure. Come on, what’s her name?”

“Roslin,” Edmure mumbled dejectedly.

“A rose!” Patrek chirped, twirling an arrow between his fingers. “Did she smell as sweet? Did you make her as red as one?” He jumped up into Marq’s arms, who carried him around, bridal style. “Three cheers for the happy couple!”

“Keep it down!” Edmure hissed, glaring daggers at them. His friends didn’t listen and cheered anyways, making Edmure wonder if they were already drunk, despite it being the early hours of the morn. He reminded himself to never tell them any of his problems with women ever again.

“Just remember one thing, Eddy,” Hugo drawled, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Make sure not to prick yourself on her thorns!” He clapped his hands and threw his head back, barking out a laugh.

Edmure threw down his longbow and began to stomp back to the castle. His sister had always scolded him for his hotheadedness, but he couldn’t help it. Not when his friends were making fun of him simply because he was smitten with a beautiful girl. What was wrong with being attracted to a pretty woman? Nothing, in his mind.

Except _everything_ was wrong with being attracted to this mysterious Roslin. There was hardly any chance that he would ever see her again, yet he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Love- if he could even call it that at this point- was a cruel, unfair game. He did not want to play, though even if he tried to run away, the game would only drag him back in once more. _A rose with thorns, indeed…_

* * *

 

Edmure raised his hand to knock on the door of the small house. He hesitated, checking to make sure it was the right place. He’d had his uncle track down Olyvar, knowing Roslin would not be far behind. Brynden had made fun of him for being so head over heels for this girl, but Edmure had already grown accustomed to his friends’ japes. He had learnt to simply ignore them. They had not met Roslin; they didn’t understand.

Edmure finally knocked, his palms clammy under his thin gloves. The wooden chest was heavy in his arms, but he did not dare deposit it on the ground. He knew if he were to set it down, he would trip over it a moment later. He had no intention of looking like a fool. Nonetheless, it was probably bound to happen. It was just Edmure’s luck.

A lanky young man dressed in a loose tunic and woolen trousers opened the door. Edmure recognized him from when he came to pay his _cens_ , _rentes_ and _banalités_. “ _Bonjour, mon seigneur_ ,” Olyvar greeted him, bowing in respect. “How may I assist you?”

“Is your sister here?” The young lord licked his lips nervously. “Roslin?”

A smile played on Olyvar’s lips behind his scruffy beard. “I’m afraid she is attending the sheep out back. Is it an urgent matter, _mon seigneur_?” Edmure’s heart sunk; it’s as if he was born to be miserable and alone.

He sucked in a deep breath. “ _Monsieur_ Olyvar, I wish to use my _droit du seigneur_ on your sister.” No use beating around the bush, he supposed. He felt terrible for putting them in this position, but there was no other way for him and Roslin to be together.

Olyvar stared at him, wide-eyed. He was caught between a rock and a hard place, he knew. He could not refuse his lord’s offer, but if he did…there could be trouble. Edmure would not punish him, although Olyvar did not know that. “I must admit that you’ve caught me by surprise.”

Edmure winced. “Terribly sorry.” He held out the chest for Olyvar, who took it with a quirked eyebrow. “I don’t mean to put you two in a bad position, but…” He cleared his throat, clasping his hands behind his back. “Can you ask Roslin to join me for supper tomorrow night?”

“Of course, _mon seigneur_.” Olyvar looked down at the wooden box in his arms. “What is this?”

“A gift for your sister.” Edmure blushed, scuffing the ground with the toe of his boot. “A couple new dresses, some jewels…” He could tell that Olyvar was trying not to laugh.

“I’m sure Roslin will love them.” Olyvar smiled at him, shifting the chest to his hip. “I will tell Roslin of the news. _Merci et au revoir, mon seigneur_.” He shut the door and Edmure was alone once more with his thoughts. His anxiousness followed him as he rode back to his castle, gnawing at the back of his mind. How was he supposed to wait until _tomorrow_ with the promise of Roslin?

* * *

 

He walked to her guest chambers, his thoughts racing and his heart hammering loudly against his chest. His blood thumped loudly in his ears, and every time a servant looked at him for a mere second too long, he swore that they could hear it. Using his _droit du seigneur_ was not unheard of- in fact, he had used it a couple of times before- but he had never been this nervous about it.

He knocked on her door. “ _Mademoiselle_ Roslin? I-it’s me, Edmure.” He inwardly cursed himself for stuttering. What was he, some uneducated stableboy? _Come on, Tully, you can do this…_

“Come in, _mon seigneur_.” Her voice was muffled by the thick door, but it still managed to bring butterflies to his stomach. Slowly, he opened the door and stepped inside. “ _Bon soir_ ,” she greeted, smiling at him.

He felt his jaw drop. Her hair had been washed and combed, and even from here he could smell the fragrant lavender oil the maids used. She wore one of the dresses he had given her, the deep purple with lace sleeves. It hugged her in all the right places, complementing her slim frame. Around her neck was a necklace- also a gift from him-, a slender silver chain with a large rose pendant.

“You look exquisite, _mademoiselle_ ,” he murmured when he finally trusted himself to speak. He held his arm out for her, a thin film of cool sweat coating his forehead. “Shall we?” She nodded and put her dainty hand on his forearm.

Supper rushed by in a blur. They sat across from one another in Edmure’s private audience chamber, alone except for the servants’ occasional arrivals to fill their goblets of wine or bring the next course. It was an out of body experience for him. He felt as if he was merely _watching_ himself, a ghost in the room.

Roslin had a gentle heart and a kind soul. She spoke of her family, how she would watch over her younger siblings and teach them all she knew. The farm was always busy, with harvesting crops and animals to take care of. She offered to take him riding one day, on the trail Olyvar had recently made. The thought that she wanted to see him again made his heart swell.

They fell into a silence as they waited for dessert. Edmure racked his brain for topics of conversation, but he scrapped any and all ideas. She was not a noble lady, barely educated. He did not want to come across as rude or a braggart. He simply stared into his cup, swirling the red wine around.

“ _Mon seigneur_ ,” Roslin murmured, reaching out to put her hand on top of his. “Is everything alright?” She watched him with her doe eyes, her brow slightly creased in concern.

“I’m fine, _mademoiselle._ ” He mustered a smile, but he was sure it looked forced. “ _Merci_.”

She sighed and gave her head a tiny shake. “With all due respect, _mon seigneur_ , all of this is unnecessary.” Her smile was wry and sardonic, and the breath she exhaled was exasperated. “It is very kind of you, and I _do_ appreciate it. But you do not need to impress me with this finery.”

“I thought you liked it,” he admitted quietly, hanging his head in shame. How could he be so foolish? Meaningless extravagances would help no man in wooing a woman. He knew nothing of courtship, and was doomed to fail in the prospect of love.

She gathered her skirts and stood up, her hands fisted in the material at her hips. “I think we can do without the extra amenities.” She seemed to stand taller, her chin held high, more sure of herself.

“ _Mademoiselle_ , what about dessert?”

“You did not ask me here for dessert, _mon seigneur_.” He winced. She was right, of course. And no doubt she was nervous about the bedding, since it would be her first time. And if he left her with child? What then? His idea was worsening by the minute, yet he pushed himself up from his seat.

“ _Êtes-vous certaines, mademoiselle?_ ” She gave him a tiny smile and nodded her head. He took her hand and led her to his bedchambers, connected to his audience room. The short walk seemed to take an eternity, each of their steps in time with his pounding heart.

They faced each other, stoic masks on both of them, as the door clicked shut. The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop. Edmure held his hands at his sides, his fists clenched so tightly until the skin was white and pale. He could see the uncertainty and nervousness in her eyes.

“We do not have to do this,” he heard himself say. His hand wrapped around her wrist, his thumb stroking the skin there. He traced the veins there, then laced his fingers through hers. “I can escort you back to your chambers, if you would like.”

She steeled herself, closing her eyes for a moment. “It is your right as a _seigneur_. I am not entitled to take that away from you.” Did she still only think of him as her superior, despite the hours of talking and basking in each other’s company?

Slowly, he brought his other hand up to cup her cheek. He brushed his lips against hers, his eyes fluttering shut. She returned the kiss, though it was not much more than the press of her mouth to his. He parted her lips with his tongue, mindful of her inexperience. She tasted sweet, of the honeyed wine from their supper and a distinct strawberry flavour. He craved more after every breathless kiss.

His mouth travelled down her neck and to her shoulders, his hands on her hips. He relished in the tiny moan he drew from her when he nibbled on her collarbone. He wanted her to feel pleasure, too. It would not be fair otherwise.

He unlaced her dress, the purple material pooling at her feet. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered into the valley between her breasts.

“ _Merci, mon seigneur_ ,” she said, breathless and shuddering.

“Call me Edmure, _s’il vous plaît_.” They are equals tonight, lovers in the moonlight.

“Yes, Edmure,” she murmured, her fingers carding through his hair. He smiled against the hollow of her throat, then pressed a quick kiss there.

Her undergarments came off soon after, joining the unwanted pile. He stepped back to drink in the sight of her. She was all pale skin and supple flesh. He wanted to caress every part of her, make her feel loved. She took a step towards the bed, but he stopped her with a hand on her hip.

He sunk to his knees, resting his forehead against her flat belly. “Edmure, what are you- oh. _Oh_.” He nosed at the thatch of dark curls there, his tongue circling around the bud at the top of her sex. Roslin inhaled sharply and tugged at his hair, her knees trembling. He kept his hands on her waist, holding her upright.

He slipped a finger into her folds, eliciting a whimper from her. He continued to lick and suck at her and added another finger. She cried out his name, her thighs shaking on either side of him. He pressed gentle kisses to her mound and slowed his fingers’ pace, easing her through her aftershocks. He peeked up at her: her face and chest were flushed, her lips parted, her hair plastered to her damp neck and forehead. She was absolutely beautiful.

Edmure scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. She helped him undress, goosebumps rising on his skin wherever she touched. Only when Roslin began to unlace his trousers did he realize how hard he was. He felt embarrassed, but if she was disgusted or shocked, she did not show it.

He laid her on her back and she complied, spreading her legs to accommodate him. He gently kissed her forehead and nestled in between her thighs. He nudged himself inside of her, mindful of her tightness and inexperience. He winced when she whimpered in pain, and he muttered his apologies.

His pace was slow, helping her get used to the feeling of him inside her. He wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumb and offered her a small smile. The young lord showered her neck and shoulders in kisses, easing her through the discomfort. She gasped under him and arched her back when he took a nipple into his mouth, his hand kneading her other breast. He teased the stiff peak with his tongue and rolled the other between his fingers.

Roslin pulled him up for another kiss, taking his bottom lip between her teeth. When he flicked his eyes open, she was already watching him. There was a teasing glint, a wicked gleam that had not been in her doe eyes before. He let out a deep growl at that, sucking her tongue into his mouth.

She tumbled over the edge soon after, clenching around him. His thrusts became uneven and erratic, his hips snapping against her. His fingers bit into her hips, and he was sure she’d find bruises there tomorrow. She did not complain, only moaned as he held onto her tightly.

He collapsed onto the bed afterward, rolling over so he did not crush her under his weight. He pulled her closer and she snuggled into his side, her face buried in the crook of his neck. Edmure stroked her hair, running the silken locks through his fingers as he regained his breath. She tangled her bare legs with his, an arm draped over his chest.

“Are you alright?” he asked, kissing the crown of her head.

“I am.” He did not miss her wince when she shifted. He could see spots of blood on her thigh and on the sheets, guilt hitting him hard. She found his hand and squeezed it. “Thank you. For everything.” He smiled at her in return and met her lips in a sweet, chaste kiss.

Edmure did not have the heart to send her away, come morning. He _could_ not, after all of this. The thought of being apart from her even tormenting him then, with Roslin lying beside him. It would not be fair to her if he abandoned her. She had a family to go back to, yes, but what they had was something neither of their families could give them.

“Roslin?”

“Hmm?” She looked up at him with sleepy eyes and stifled a yawn behind her hand. He pulled the blankets over them and drew her closer. “Is everything alright?”

“I think we should find a place for you in the castle.”

A slow, wide grin found its way onto her lips. Her face lit up, more radiant than the sun and the stars in the sky. She leaned up and kissed him, cupping his cheek. “I would love that.”

He returned her grin. “It shall be done, then.” He kissed her once more, softly, his hand on her hip. “ _Bonne nuit, ma douce_.”

“ _Bonne nuit, mon amour_.”

 _Je t’aime, Roslin_.


End file.
